


Wholeheartedly

by Youwerenevermeanttofeelalone



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Wizarding World - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Harry is a professor because I refuse to write him as a cop, Harry’s bad coping mechanisms if you squint, lowkey mentions of ptsd, mentions of mean comments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youwerenevermeanttofeelalone/pseuds/Youwerenevermeanttofeelalone
Summary: Your ex-betrothed wants you back.Based off “Ex Boyfriend Wants You Back” by Parker Mae Audio on YouTube per request of a reader.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Plus Size Reader, Harry Potter/Reader
Kudos: 65





	Wholeheartedly

Muggle customs had been life-changing, you had become a more organized witch through them and after a long day of work you had more time for yourself to unwind before bed. 

You were readying your robes for the next morning when a knock was bestowed on the front door. With a flick of your wand, the clothes straightened themselves before you left the bedroom. 

The person you least expected, and wanted, to see behind the door stuttered when you opened it. You made a motion to close the door again, but he lifted a hand and used it to block you from keeping him out. 

“No, no— please,” he breathed a plead, “just give me a few minutes.” Harry repeated, “please.”

Damn him and his bright green eyes. “Fine,” you gave in, swinging the door completely open and stepping to the side so he could enter. 

Harry crossed the doorway immediately, as if you would change your mind at any second if he didn’t move quickly enough. He knew you well. 

“So...” he extended the ohs, swinging his arms forward and behind “how have you been?”

“Get to the point, Potter.”

“Okay, okay!” He observed you had put the magical photographs of the two of you away, you had even repainted the walls to a lighter color. It suited the living room, but it broke his heart. “I’m sorry for everything,” he said after a couple of lingering seconds. 

You scoffed. Him being sorry didn’t fix anything. He had assumed things about you, things so absurd that you thought he had been joking the first time he brought them up. Harry had childishly assumed you cared about his fortune and fame, about being betrothed to the boy who lived. Because of those assumptions, he considered that as long as he gave you galleons you would be okay with him staying at Hogwarts through holidays. He wouldn’t even visit you when he had free time — you were the one who visited Hogsmeade and made efforts to see him, you wrote to him, you sent him baked goods so he wouldn’t miss home. He would rather stay in a cold and empty castle than at home with you, every single fucking time. 

“I can’t imagine how lonely I made you feel,” he continued when you didn’t answer anything, “I didn’t love you the way you deserved, and you loved me harder than you should have...”

His words hurt. You remembered every night you waited up for him, every morning you woke up to a cold bed and with a headache because of how hard you had cried until exhaustion got to you. You knew you had loved him harder than you should’ve, and it stung, it stung because it had been real — you hadn’t been able to control it and lost in the euphoria of loving and being loved you hadn’t wish to control it either. 

“I thought I could deal with it, you know?” Harry exhaled a confession, the deepest one he could muster, “that work would be enough to not think about all those things we went through as the war raged on. I—,” he stuttered, “I would read your letters and think that you didn’t understand me. Every time you called me a workaholic I took it at heart but not in the way I should have...” getting closer to where you were standing, just enough to be sure you were paying attention to him, he said, “I thought you didn’t care about me, that—“

You interrupted him, “really, Harry? After everything I put up with?”

He never stopped to think how hard it was for you, the things people would say about you. Losing the count of how many instances you had heard someone say he had dumped you for someone skinnier or prettier shouldn’t have been something you had gone through, but there you were. 

“Let me finish!” he exclaimed, exasperated. “Please.”

Sitting down on your reading chair, you leaned your head against your hand as your elbow rested on the armchair. He had your entire attention, as always. 

“What I am trying to say is that now I see how wrong I was. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your letters, I’m sorry I made up excuses to not see you, I’m sorry I thought luxuries would be enough...” he threw his arms in the air, obfuscated with his own self, “I’m sorry for everything, every little detail that hurt and annoy you. All of it. I swear. I’m sorry for pouring pumpkin juice all over you in fifth year, and for that time I stepped onto your gown when we were dancing—“

“Harry,” you called his name softly. He was rambling now, a common sign of nervousness on him. He clamped his mouth shut, nodding in understanding. 

Harry took a seat too, playing with his wand through his fingers. Head down, he listened to the silence, he took the emptiness in. Your breath got louder and his ear perked, inpatient for whatever it was you had to say. 

“What changed? What made you suddenly want to apologize?”

“Miserableness. I have friends whom I love, I adore my job, I’ve been going to therapy for months— but it’s not enough, I barely function...” he lifted his head to look at you. “I can’t focus when I’m teaching, grading is a chore and when my mind slips to you everything gets better until I remember how much I hurt you.”

You tore your eyes away from his face. The hardest part of the breakup hadn’t been being alone, he had you used to that, the hardest part had been not seeing his clothes when you opened the closet and the empty space in the bookshelf where all the papers he researched to teach rested. Living without him sucked, not knowing how he was or if he had groomed his hair or if he had remembered some acquaintance’s birthday... not having Harry in your life meant the puzzle always being incomplete, but him being sorry didn’t mean much. 

“For what it’s worth,” you mumbled, clearing your throat so the remaining words would be clearer, “I forgive you. Wholeheartedly.”

“I’ll give McGonagall my resignation at the end of the week to give her time to find a replacement,” he informed you. “I understand if you don’t want to see me again,” Harry’s voice cracked, “or if you hate me. But all I am asking from you, and I know it’s a lot, is one last chance.”

“You just said you adore your job,” you pointed out. 

He articulated the words you had wanted to hear many months ago, “but I love you more.”

Pushing yourself off the chair, you approached him. He traced every millimeter of your frame with his eyes as you squatted down in front of him. You placed your palms on his knees, both to steady you and to initiate physical contact. 

Harry stared into your eyes, desperate to find a hint of the answer you would give him. You surprised him by saying, “don’t leave your job.”

“It’s not more important than you,” he reiterated firmly, boldly resting his palms on top of the back of your hands. 

You gave in, again, not even surprising yourself. “You can have both.”

His wide-eyed reaction prompted you to stand on your feet. Harry copied your movements, twisting his hands so he could press his palms against yours. “Are you serious?”

“If you’re willing to make efforts.”

“All of them,” he nodded enthusiastically.

Your hands left the warmth of his own in order for your arms to wrap around him. With your head on his shoulder and his arms snaked across your plump waist, you confirmed it, “I’m serious, then.”

He leaned his head against yours. Harry tried really hard to not close his eyes, afraid you would disappear if he did so. He couldn’t ruin it, not again. He had a lot of plans, and you were part of every single one of them — he couldn’t wait to tell you all about them but all in due time. At that exact moment, the only thing he wanted was to be in your arms, like he should’ve been for the past six months, like he wanted to be forever. 


End file.
